


One of His Dying Memories

by rebelxxwaltz



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Desk Sex, Episode Related, F/M, First Time, Nurse!Annie, Oh How Do I Even Tag This Really?, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 11:18:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelxxwaltz/pseuds/rebelxxwaltz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gene Hunt never would have guessed that his day would end like this, but WPC Cartwright tending his injuries in that nurse's uniform? Well there's only so much a man can take… Gene/Nurse!Annie near the end of S01E06.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One of His Dying Memories

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is essentially a tag or missing scene for S01E06. It was originally conceived as a PWP, but it took on a life of its own and developed a back story. And yes, 'back story' *could* loosely translate as 'justification for smut' in this case… but who's counting?
> 
> Certain individuals at the Lifein1973 comm are responsible for making this exist. You know who you are! :D

**One of His Dying Memories**

The first time he could recall ever seeing a nurse was, unsurprisingly, at the hospital. He was four years old, and his mother was in labor with his new baby brother, Stuart. He never did find out whether his father was at work or at the pub or visiting some other den of iniquity, but he was not present for the birth. With little Gene's mother otherwise occupied, it fell on the nurses to look after him. 

Starch-clean blue and white fabric and a hint of perfume breaking through the prevailing scent of antiseptic, that was what he remembered. He had been a bit scared at the time, because his mum had been in pain. With his big green eyes and blond hair, the nurses seemed all too happy to dote on him. They spoke quietly, touched his small shoulders gently with their soft but efficient hands. As they bustled about their duties on the ward, the nurses would stop to talk with him about his new brother or to bring him tea and biscuits. After a few attempts they stopped asking where his daddy was, as all he could do was shake his head and frown. 

When they left the hospital the following day, his father had finally surfaced with the expected scowl, ushering his mother down the corridor with the new baby nestled in the crook of her arm. The nurses waved to Gene, giving him some sweets and telling him to look after his little brother because he was a big boy now. Those women seemed entirely unfazed by his father's disapproving glare, and for a long time afterward Gene would smile every time he saw a nurse or passed by the hospital on his way somewhere. 

Gene was fourteen when Peter and Mary Higgins moved in across the street. Like many young couples after the war, they were hard-working and cautiously optimistic. Peter put in long hours at the factory and Mary parlayed her wartime medical training into a job with the newly-established National Heath Service, where nurses were currently in high demand. 

A lonely teenage boy couldn't be blamed for the view out the window of the small bedroom he shared with his brother, or for the way it made him feel when red-haired Mary slipped out of that neat and familiar uniform in her own inadequately curtained bedroom over the way-- with or without the assistance of her husband. Mary would always smile at him in the street and ask after his family, while all Gene could do was think about the stretch of blue and white fabric across her chest and the slide of Peter's lips on the back of her neck as he pushed the stiff fabric off her shoulders. 

These new sensations made Gene feel both ashamed and elated as he bit his lip and fisted himself beneath the covers, hoping that Stuart was sleeping deeply and that he was quiet enough that nobody else would hear. And if he walked past the hospital in those days? Well, the tightness in his relentlessly hormonal trousers would suggest that his feelings about a woman in a nurse's uniform had evolved somewhat since their display of kindness toward him many years ago. 

He joined the force once his National Service was finished, and he'd be lying if he said that the uniforms of the few women police officers he encountered didn't give him a dose of the horn. Something about the tailoring or the texture of the fabric struck a similar chord in him, but he learned to keep his hands to himself-- after a fashion, at least. Eventually he met his wife, who worked in a typing pool and dressed accordingly. They rubbed along alright for awhile, until the job swallowed him whole and their failure to have children threw a bitter wrench into their relationship. 

Up until that point, he had been faithful; he had been determined not to be like his father, and took his vows and promises seriously. There's only so much a man can endure, however, and the deterioration of his marriage and his brother's slide into drug addiction saw Gene Hunt suddenly more willing to entertain all sorts of other options as they presented themselves. What did he have to lose anymore? Surely nothing that could be further damaged by a few hours in private with a skilled professional who was willing to do things his wife would have divorced him for even _mentioning_ , all while happily dressed in a nurse's uniform that was two sizes too small by design and left absolutely nothing to the imagination. 

After Sam Tyler burst into his life in a flurry of polyester-encased limbs and unhinged demands regarding 'his desk,' things got better for awhile. Something about the scrawny little git made Gene want to be a better copper, a better man. The business with Warren was the last straw, and he'd found himself back on the straight and narrow for the first time in a long time-- that is, until temptation smacked him hard across the face in the form of WPC Annie Cartwright decked out in a prim and proper nurse's uniform that fit like it was _made_ to hug her not-insubstantial curves. 

The hostage siege at the Gazette was a far more dangerous situation than their undercover stint as pub workers at the Trafford Arms had ever hoped to be, and he wasn't sure if the girl understood that. She was so eager to put herself in the line of fire, probably wanting to impress DI Tyler and show them all just how capable she was. As if they didn't already know-- Gene was well aware of her skills, and she had a natural investigative instinct that would make a fine detective out of her someday. He could feel a ball of hot stabbing guilt tinged with arousal lodging deep in his gut as he let his eyes roam over her body when she volunteered herself to go undercover as a nurse, unable in that moment to contain the yearnings of his depraved imagination… the fact that she didn't seem to mind all that much only made matters worse. 

He hadn't been able to help stroking her arm before they sent her in with the hostages. It had been intended as a reassuring gesture, a confidence booster for 'Nurse Cartwright,' but damned if he didn't feel downright _filthy_ after running his fingers over that unassuming patch of cotton. By the time the three of them-- himself, Annie, and Sam-- were locked in the supply closet, he was sure the universe had it in for him. Between the total fucking balls-up that the rescue operation had become, getting pistol-whipped in the face, Jackie sodding Queen, and now the incredibly invasive new image of Annie Cartwright jumping off a bridge with no top on, Gene was fast approaching the end of his rope. 

And then _of course_ he'd been shot, because there was still room for more face-melting expressions of hell in the softly sizzling hand basket that was his day… although as far as dying memories went, giving Litton a good swift kick might not have been a bad one.

When all was said and done, Gene thought he had scraped through rather well. The abrasion on his face was stinging and the area of his chest where the bullet had pinged off of his flask was quickly blooming into a flower of bruised agony, but it was nothing he couldn't soothe away with enough single malt. Hopefully the liquor would also wipe the inappropriate images of a certain WPC out of his mind, or else he'd be ending his night with a hand around his todger as if he were a spotty teenager once again. 

The last thing he expected, working through a generous measure in his darkened office after everyone had left off for home or the pub, was for the woman in question to peek her head around his door with a slightly battered first aid kit clutched nervously in her hands, still wearing that improbably _well-fitting_ borrowed nurse's uniform. Gene knew he was in serious, _serious_ trouble.

He cleared his throat, motioning her into the room. "Cartwright. Shouldn't you be drinking Nelson dry with the rest of the team?"

"Ummm, sorry Guv--" she smiled down at her hands, and he realized that she was actually _pleased_ that he had lumped her in with all the other misfits in CID. She shut the door behind her, although the area outside was deserted. "I just… wanted to check if you were feeling alright."

"What is this, a Girl Guides' meeting? ' _Course_ I'm alright, you dozy tart!"

He hadn't meant to be so harsh, but his baser impulses were clouding his judgement and she was coming _closer_. The nurse's uniform-- past, present, and all manner of potential futures-- filled his vision as she stopped beside his desk, and he thanked whatever lucky stars were left in his patch of firmament that he had already discarded his jacket and loosened his necktie. This whole situation was making him feel unreasonably hot around the collar, the dark excitement of his brush with death still coursing through his veins.

Apparently undeterred, Annie placed the first aid box on the desk, snapping it open and rummaging through the supplies. "Phyllis said you wouldn't let any of the other WPCs tend your injuries." She peered disapprovingly at him from beneath lowered lashes, and he realized that he might just be looking at the bravest police officer in all of A Division. "I was there when he hit you, Guv. It must be hurting something fierce, so give over."

Yes, she _had_ been there. He recalled the sharp bite of metal as the gun bashed against his cheek, and then the counterpoint of Cartwright's small hand touching his back as they exited the dead-end stairwell. The same hand that was now reaching toward his face, intending to clean his wound. Gene stiffened slightly in his chair as she encroached on him, stepping into the space between his body and the desk and perching herself next to his empty glass as though it were _just that natural_ for her perfectly rounded arse to be sat atop his paperwork. 

She worked quietly, gently swiping any lingering sweat and dirt away from the injured area and leaning close to inspect the damage. The burn of the antiseptic against his cheek as she dabbed it carefully was nothing compared to the low smolder of her hours-old perfume in his nostrils, flowers and airy powder and something ripe and peachy that he could _really_ sink his teeth into...

Quickly finishing with the cut on his face, her eyes flickered down to his shirt collar. Tilting her head, she reached out and tugged at his necktie to further unfasten the knot. Gene slowly took in a large breath as she left the tie hanging loosely around his neck and reached for his shirt buttons. "Blimey, you don't waste much time do you?"

Her lips quirked as she tried to frown at him, failing in the process and pressing into a mild pout instead. "There's no need to be crass. Just let me have a look and I'll be out of your hair."

There was no vest to be found beneath his shirt; the day's events had left him soaked in an unpleasant mixture of Scotch and perspiration, and with a couple hours' follow-up work still left to do he'd been content to go without one when he changed into a spare shirt he kept on the premises for emergencies both criminal _and_ marital. Annie winced in sympathy as she pulled the right side of the garment open, revealing his heavily bruised pectoral muscle. Cool fingers soothing over the surface of the swiftly-purpling contusion caused him to jump, shifting in his chair like a nervous schoolboy at the forbidden pleasure of her touch. Gene laughed maniacally to himself somewhere in the far inner reaches of his mind when Annie misinterpreted his electrified reaction as _pain_.

"Sorry, Guv. Is it bad?"

 _Bad? You have no fucking clue here do you, sweetheart?_ "Nah, barely a tickle."

She made a small 'hmm' noise, sounding rather unconvinced. "Still, I've got some ointment that should help. Just a moment…"

There was a growing tightness in Gene's trousers as his eyes fixed onto the elegant line of Annie's neck, trailing a greedy gaze up and down her form in the brief moments while her attention was focused on the first aid box. He schooled his features into what he hoped looked like frustrated tolerance, determined to maintain his composure. Giving him a patiently triumphant smile as she turned back to him, Annie squeezed some of the opaque substance into her left hand. 

"Could you lean forward just a bit?" He leaned, and her right hand braced his shoulder. "Might feel a little cold at first, but it'll help with the pain and bruising…"

And _ohhhh bloody shagging hell_ she was rubbing the cream over his aching chest and it felt so good to have her fingers trailing from his collarbone down across the muscle and over toward the junction of his arm. Gene bit back a groan, letting his head loll sideways as the bottom of her palm smoothed against his sternum and worked in small circles. She stilled for a moment, and he peeked over to see her adding just a bit more ointment to her hand with a look of intense concentration. Then her fingers were on him again and he allowed his brain to switch off and wander, absently hoping that she wouldn't notice the effect she was having on certain parts of his anatomy. 

The small amount of discomfort associated with her careful treatment was entirely eclipsed by the mind-blanking sense of illicit longing he was experiencing as Annie massaged him. It was useless to remind himself that she was doing this out of a sense of loyalty and innocent helpfulness, not for his obscene gratification. It was a difficult concept to grasp when her thumb kept brushing against the top of his ultra-sensitive nipple. Gene was in a daze, distantly aware of her other hand lightly squeezing at his shoulder as she worked, trying not to imagine her hands elsewhere or the two of them tangling into all _sorts_ of compromising positions with her still wearing that thoughtlessly alluring uniform…

Annie released a sudden gasp, then, hand faltering in its careful application. Gene frowned, eyes refocusing and darting across her face. She looked slightly alarmed, clear blue eyes widening like a deer in the headlights. Her breathing was noticeably uneven, and he followed her line of vision as she lowered her gaze to the space between them. 

_Oh bollocks. Now you've really gone and done it_ , he thought to himself as it became apparent that his wandering fingers had slipped beneath the hem of her blue cotton nurse's dress, absently caressing the fabric where it had ridden up along the outside of her thigh. There was a frozen moment where their eyes met, and he bunched the skirt with a compulsive movement that brought his bare knuckles into contact with her nylon-covered leg. 

Gene snapped to his senses abruptly. "Shit. _Shit_ , sorry! I didn't--" He drew his arm back, making to rise from his chair, but he was stopped by a small yet deceptively strong hand gripping him at the wrist and knocking him off balance. Confused and aroused beyond any sense of plausible deniability, he fell back into his chair and looked up to see WPC Cartwright biting her lip. Chest heaving behind the pristine white apron, she looked at him almost defiantly as she tugged him forward and slowly guided his hand a little further up her leg. 

His thumb brushed along the inside of her thigh of its own accord, and she squirmed into his touch. "Christ on a flippin' _bike_ , Cartwright…" 

Shimmying even closer to the edge of the desk, Annie reached out a hand and brushed an errant lock of golden hair away from the uninjured side of his face. She allowed her trembling fingers to remain there, tracing along his sideburn as she eyed him intently.

The feel of her smooth fingers on his face went straight to Gene's groin, and he failed to stop himself from pushing her knees apart and dragging the skirt up even further. The contrast of his splayed hands against the black nylon covering Annie's legs as he revealed them was both lewd and mesmerizing. She inhaled sharply, grasping his open shirt collar with both hands and urging him upward. Gene stood unsteadily, positioning himself between her legs and bracing his hands on either side of her on the desk as he hovered. Hair disheveled and cheeks glowing with color, Annie was a sight to see. 

Her lips were pink, tempting, and very _very_ close. He could taste the sweetness of her breath as he stared her down. "You havin' me on, Constable? 'Cos if this is your idea of a game I suggest you go find a different playmate."

Shaking fingers removed the paisley necktie that was draped around his neck, depositing it on the desk. Then both her hands returned to slide over his shoulders, and _fuck_ the featherlight drag of her lips against the side of his stubbled jaw was sending even more of his blood south. She wasn't backing down, and he was swiftly approaching the point of no return. 

"It's this uniform, isn't it?" She mouthed at the skin beneath his ear hesitantly. "Only, I saw your face right after I changed…" 

_Fucking psychology_ , he thought to himself. _Makes everyone think they're so clever_. He pressed himself against her, hard as a rock, winding a hand into her hair and forcing her to look him in the eye. "Yeah? And what about you," he growled. "Got a dose of the old Florence Nightingale, or is it this hot between your legs on an average evening?" 

In response, she gave a soft moan and arched her back. Her expression was so _earnest_. "I, umm… I think it's the adrenaline. From today. And it's _you_ , and you almost died. I just want--" 

It was enough for him; if she had the guts to ask for it, he was most definitely ready to give it to her. He silenced her with a kiss, tilting his head to deepen the contact and sucking on her bottom lip. She melted against him, fingers cradling his jaw, and from there it was all honeyed heat and uncomplicated desire. His rough handling and her tender motions were deliciously incongruous but strangely compatible, and he could feel her pulse hammering as his hand slid around her neck to finger the outrageously demure white collar of the nurse's uniform. His forehead pressed breathlessly to hers as he went to work unfastening the apron from the bodice of the dress and reaching behind her to untie it, removing the extra encumbrance from her willing form. 

The corner of her mouth fluttered temptingly against his own as he worked open her top buttons. "This uniform, _your tits_ … I should send you undercover more often." Then she was kissing him wildly, running her tongue between his bottom lip and his teeth, tangling her fingers in his hair as he slid his hands into the top of her dress. 

For a moment he felt like this _must_ be wrong; she was surely more than ten years his junior, an officer under his command, not to mention the obvious love interest of his far more suitable deputy. Just for a moment, Gene Hunt contemplated these things. Because then Annie was reaching for his belt buckle and sliding a hand into his shorts and after that she could have been the newest flame of King Henry VIII for all it would have mattered. He never _ever_ wanted to know how she'd learned exactly the right way to wrap her hand-- soft and efficient, like the nurses he remembered from his youth-- around his cock in order to pull a shuddering groan from deep within his chest, but if this was what the Women's Department were always gossiping about in the canteen he would gladly sign a petition to double the length of their tea breaks. 

There was a muffled tearing sound, and Gene realized he had been so caught up in the kiss and her hand working at him that he had ripped the last two buttons off the top of Annie's dress. He pulled back, releasing a slow whistling breath as he looked her over. The top of the dress hung open, revealing creamy flesh and an unassumingly lacy caramel-beige bra. Front closure, he was pleased to note. Removing Annie's hand from his trousers and placing it beside her on the desk, he lifted his gaze to her perfectly flushed face. What he found was trust, openness, and a surprising hunger. Pressing closer, he cradled her cheek, brushing his thumb across her parted lips and trailing his hand down over the base of her throat and lower.

Feeling her tremble under his touch was playing havoc with the final vestiges of his control, and he hesitated when he found the clasp of her bra. "You sure you wanna do this?" His lips traveled up the column of her neck, the tip of his nose tracing the side of her face as he breathed against her ear. Annie's hands shot up and grabbed both of his arms just above the bend of the elbow, steadying herself and pulling his body closer. "We can still stop. But not for much longer, Annie. _Tell me_ \--"

She moaned and shook as he traced the shell of her ear with his tongue. "Don't stop. Don't. I-- I want this, want _you_. Please, Guv--"

The use of his title finally broke him. He swallowed her gasp as they mashed into a hard kiss, tongues tangling as they explored each other's mouths. His hands kneaded her breasts, thumbs rubbing her pebbled nipples through the satin and lace of her bra before finally unfastening the clasp to reveal them. He dipped his head to tease at one of the pink buds, laving it with his tongue and scraping at it with his teeth. Annie hummed in approval, massaging the back of his scalp and holding him to her while he gave her other breast the same treatment. 

Gene pushed Annie further back onto the desk, dislodging a clipboard and causing a stack of paperwork to flutter to the floor as he kissed her with abandon. Trousers still hanging open, he purred low in the back of his throat when he felt her sliding the shirt away from his shoulders and letting it drop to the floor as he pulled his arms out. One of her legs, still clad in black nylon with her foot encased in an oh-so-sensible police-issue shoe, wrapped around his own as she pulled him in. He gripped the leg, tugging it higher and running his hand up the outside of her thigh. The sheer material encased her whole lower body, and Gene silently cursed the modern demise of stockings and suspenders in favor of more practical hosiery.

Placing a kiss to the side of her mouth and then another at the edge of her eyebrow, he pushed his hand all the way up to her waist beneath the dress and found the top of the seemingly impenetrable garment. "Bloody tights," he grumbled, thrilling to the sound of her breathless laugh as her hips lifted off the desk to make his task easier. Gene completely failed to feel any remorse whatsoever as his fingers tore holes through the thin fabric in his haste to pull the offending material away from her legs. 

He took a step back to help her out of her shoes, dropping them onto the floor along with her ruined tights. He resisted the urge to pinch himself. This day had been one of the worst he'd had in some time; he'd woken with a hangover, been held hostage by a disgruntled maintenance man, had to listen to Jackie Queen's shrill appraisals, watched Sam Tyler have a gun pointed at his head before nearly being killed himself… if someone had told him eight hours ago that his day would end with a half-naked WPC Cartwright giving him an unguarded come-hither look, sprawled on top of his reports with her knickers peeking out from beneath a crumpled nurse's uniform, he would have laughed heartily and then probably punched said person in the kidneys. 

But _oh_ \-- she was there, and she was waiting for him to do something. He let his gaze roam, and Annie's legs fell open just the slightest bit further as though he'd moved them with his mind. She was biting her lip again, looking back at him almost shyly, and damn if it wasn't one of the sexiest things he had ever seen. Slowly she reached a hand toward her own collar, twisting a shoulder and attempting to shift her arm out of the ruffled sleeve. Finally acting, he surged forward and stilled her movements, speaking gruffly. "No. Leave it on." 

Complying with his demand, she reached toward his bare chest and returned to tracing her fingers over the bruised area. Her course of 'treatment' had certainly been effective, because Gene had entirely forgotten about his injuries. She placed small kisses across both sides of his chest, mirroring his actions toward her and teasing at his nipples with the pads of her thumbs.

" _Jesus_ ," Gene exclaimed as she tongued at the hollow of his throat. Reaching down he ran both hands up her legs once again, finally feeling the softness of her bare skin. This time he turned the fingers of one hand inward, traveling up her thigh and homing in on the damp heat concealed by the wholesome cotton of her knickers. Annie cried out, twisting beneath his touch and digging her nails into his bicep as he rubbed at her. She rolled her hips against his hand, nibbling the underside of his chin and trapping him within the circle of her legs. 

Pulling her knickers aside he slid two fingers along the hot slickness of her, teasing up over her clit and then dipping into her center. She was breathing heavily, lips against his neck with her hands cradling him at his ribcage and the small of his back. Slowly twisting his fingers within her, he used his other hand to push the skirt of the blue dress up over her hips and hook his thumb into her knicker elastic, tugging impatiently. Looking down, he observed his own actions. "Can't believe how wet you are for me. _Fucking hell_ …" Annie's hands stroked along his skin until they reached the loosely hanging waistband of his trousers. She pushed them down over his hips along with his shorts, freeing his throbbing erection while he lifted her arse to pull her knickers off. 

"G-- Gene," she whimpered, pulling him down for another kiss and wrapping her fingers around his arousal. He moaned against her lips, pushing into her hand even as she dragged him closer. Then her hand was gone and his sensitive tip was nudging against her entrance, probing into the tempting heat she was offering so readily. Unable to resist any longer Gene shoved his hips forward, one arm locking around her waist and crowding her against him. He gasped at the tightness surrounding his thick cock, drawing back and pushing in further, encouraged by Annie's thighs clamping around him. 

Her passage was narrow, and he could feel her internal muscles squeezing at him like a vice. She clearly wasn't a virgin, but he doubted she'd had very many lovers-- and no one for quite some time by the feel of things. When he was finally buried as deep as he could go Gene rocked his hips, drawing a breathy moan from her thoroughly kissed mouth. Her back was arched, and he lowered her to lay across the desk. Marveling at the sight of her unfettered breasts peeking out from the top of the nurse's uniform, he withdrew and surged back in, mapping both of the creamy globes with indulgent hands as he pinned her to the flat surface with the length of his body.

Gathering the fabric of the dress and gripping her at the waist, Gene flexed into her repeatedly, thighs braced against the desk to gain more leverage. " _God_ , you feel good. So tight." He thrust harder, breath shuddering, twisting his hips into hers. "D'you like that?"

Annie was deliciously pliant and responsive beneath him, running her hands over his arms and his back, adopting his pace so naturally. "Oh… _ohhh_ , Gene. _Yes_ …" Her words trailed off, mouth falling open with a pleasure-drunk gasp. He picked up speed, because that seemed to be exactly what she wanted, what they both needed. One of her arms flew back, knocking against Gene's telephone and nearly dislodging the receiver. He knew he'd found a good spot as she tried to bite back a high-pitched wail, writhing on top of the scattered paperwork as he pounded into her. He leaned down to swallow her cries, hooking one of her legs over his elbow to open her wider and tangling the fingers of his other hand with hers as he propped himself over the desk. 

Lost and frantic, Gene found himself surrounded by her. The scent of her perfume still lingered, soft limbs wrapping him in a full-body embrace as he fucked her vigorously. She mewled and whispered his name between disorderly open-mouthed kisses, digging a heel into his arse as though she wanted him even deeper. And who was he to go against her wishes? One of his hands was still pinning Annie's to the desk, which had begun to creak and shift under the power of his thrusts. He could tell she was getting close to her peak, fluttering around his cock and bucking against him in and out of rhythm with his forceful advances. Not far from oblivion himself, he gathered his remaining energy and went into overdrive. 

Two, three, four rapid thrusts and she was riding up into him, body shaking, biting at the junction of his shoulder to muffle her impassioned moans. The pressure of her teeth on his skin and her tight heat clamping down on him were enough to send Gene over the edge, buried to the hilt and grinding hard as she continued to thrash against him. "Fuck, _fuck, Annie_!" His brain became a blank of white-hot pleasure as he came harder than he had in years, one arm sliding around her waist to force their bodies even closer, digging his fingers into the cool cotton material of the nurse's uniform as his release surged out from him in violent waves.

A few long moments later, Gene came back to awareness. He realized that he was indeed sprawled on top of Annie Cartwright on his desk, and the past twenty minutes had not been a fevered hallucination. Annie's limbs had gone slack, legs hanging off the edge of the desk and still sandwiched with his own. He had fallen down onto his elbow above her, with one of her arms draped low around his waist and the other hand stroking through the hair behind his left ear. Peering up at her, he was relieved to see the remains of a dazed smile on her lips as she stared at the ceiling. 

Noticing his attention, she fixed him with an anxious gaze. He propped himself up and gave her a small reassuring grin of his own, running his fingers gently across her cheek before withdrawing and standing on shaky legs to retrieve his trousers from around his ankles and shrug into his discarded shirt. Still breathing unevenly, he fell back into his chair feeling wild and languid and ridiculously satisfied. Annie slowly pulled herself to a sitting position, looking thoroughly ravished and somewhat embarrassed as she smoothed the skirt of the dress down to cover herself. Her eyes darted around, presumably to locate the scattered components of her uniform. Gene couldn't stand the sight of her apprehension, leaning forward and taking her by the hand. 

"C'mere," he instructed in a low voice. He pulled her into his lap, cradling her against his chest and placing a lingering kiss to her temple. She relaxed, dropping her head onto his shoulder as he reached into the front of her dress to refasten her bra. His fingers traced along the edge of the lace before settling across her midsection. They sat in silence for slowly floating minutes, and Gene found himself unable to think about much of anything. It had been a long _long_ time since an orgasm had left him so blind stupid with contentment, and while Gene Hunt did not cuddle as a rule he was willing to make an exception in this very unique case. 

Annie, on the other hand, seemed restless. She was reclined comfortably against him, but he could practically hear the cogs turning in that quick little brain of hers. His suspicion proved correct, as after a few more unhurried moments she spoke. "Well that's me on traffic duty, then. Or worse, back to working in pubs." She sighed heavily, eyelids fluttering shut against his neck. 

Gene's face scrunched in confusion. "You wot?"

She peered up at him, looking grimly resigned to whatever imaginary fate she had dreamt up. "Oh come on, Guv. You know what happens to girls who shag the boss..."

"No. Enlighten me." The furrow between his eyebrows deepened. 

Annie rambled on, barely seeming aware of Gene in spite of the fact that she was still perched intimately in his lap. "Even if it _was_ amazing… Well, there's all my respect up in smoke. Oh, what was I thinking? And after I worked so hard…" She pressed the back of her wrist to her forehead in an anguished gesture.

It _had_ been amazing. At least that part of her diatribe made an ounce of sense. Christ, she was nearly as bad as Sam. "Am I missing something 'ere? Last time I checked, I was a DCI. Which means _I'm_ the one who makes those decisions-- not you, Constable." Finally she looked him in the eye, and he could see that she was genuinely worried. He was more than slightly insulted that she would think him capable of demoting or dismissing her for such a reason, but surprisingly his instinct was to put her mind at ease. 

"But--" 

"Look here, nervous knickers. You are twice as smart as Ray Carling, and-- I had _hoped_ \-- less than half as insane as DI Tyler. I don't have any _evidence_ , but my gut feeling tells me you could punch five times harder than Skelton. You're already a better investigator than those divs Vince and Geoff, and they've been on the force for decades. So if you really think I'd want you out of my command because you had the _im-bloody-peccable_ taste to seek me out for a bit of slap and tickle, you are in serious danger of finding yourself on overnight desk duty for the next two months!" 

She smiled at him, then. A full-power, thousand-watt, sunshine-of-my-life smile with her arms draped around his neck and her soft curves mashing against him. "I-- really? D'you mean that? You won't… send me away?"

"You callin' me a liar?"

Her fingers gently traced the skin beneath his loose shirt collar as the bright smile waned into a gentle glow. "Thanks, Guv." 

The only response he could think to give was a mildly approving pout. The other alternative he had considered was to snog her face off, but he feared it might undermine the message he had so painstakingly conveyed. The moment was over, sad as it was to say. The tender, almost amorous look she was giving him held a danger all its own, and he knew it was time for him to behave as her superior officer instead of just as a man. 

"Right, off you get. Best go and tart yourself up, since you'll be drinking for free in the pub tonight." She disengaged from him somewhat reluctantly, and he swept her with one last longing look as she gathered her things. "Nurse Cartwright, unsung hero of the siege. That _must_ deserve a whisky chaser or three." 

Bundling up her mangled tights along with the first aid kit and and peering through the blinds to check for any activity in the darkened outer office, she turned toward him a last time. "You'll be there…?"

"Wouldn't miss it. Just need to finish up a few things." He gestured to the desk, which was probably a mistake as the paperwork and office supplies haphazardly scattered across the area were a rather stark reminder of their recent activities. 

Annie blushed accordingly. "Right then. Take care." 

Watching her go, Gene absently buttoned his shirt and lit a fag, thinking of the things he wished he could have said. In another lifetime he would tell her that she was beautiful. In a world where it wasn't so impossible, he would beg her to fuck him until the sun came up and several times more the next day for good measure. If he didn't carry the burden of leadership or have a long-suffering wife waiting at home, Gene would lay it on the line and tell her that if Tyler never managed to work up the nerve he would happily pick up the younger man's slack. Instead he settled in, pouring himself another drink and storing the memory in the back of his mind. Perhaps he'd relive it on his dying day-- the very best and most wonderful, Annie had said-- and this was certainly one he wouldn't soon forget. 

**xxxxx**

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a one-shot, but I already feel like it needs an angsty-dirty sequel (or two). Probably also episode related… I am already working on some ideas.
> 
> There is one continuity issue with this fic, which I won't even try to deny. It's plainly seen that Gene arrives in the pub at the end of this episode in the same clothes he was wearing during the hostage situation… for the purpose of this story I suppose we will simply have to assume that Gene's spare clean shirt also happens to be pink. Maybe the missus has been trolling him by buying nothing but pink shirts? :P


End file.
